Chapter Text
Anna Viktorovna swirled her fingers through the warm water, assessing the temperature. A bit warmer, she thought, it could be a bit warmer - she turned down the cold water tap. While she waited for the tub to fill, Anna undressed in the warmth from the heating stove. She had left her traveling boots in the front parlor of the Varfolomeyev home, so as not to muddy the entire house. Now she peeled off her wool dress and pants, along with her soft cotton undergarments. Anna enjoyed feeling the cold tiles on her bare feet and inhaling the cleansing, bracing smell of fresh pine. A large arch of greenery hung above the washroom door, tied with a broad, shimmery white ribbon.
The rest of the bath was all pink and white with hints of green - dainty and frilly and a perfect respite from the days of traveling over the snowy countryside. It felt luxurious. Anna need not be anywhere for hours; she sank into the hot water, soaking for twenty minutes before taking up the floral-scented bar of soap. Emerging relaxed and refreshed an hour later, Anna Viktorovna eyed the dresses laying on the bed in her room. Lidia Motyaevna, the colonel’s wife, insisted Anna be given a selection of ensembles from her daughter’s collection. Anna had protested, weakly, out of habit, but what was she supposed to wear, if not borrowed clothing; the only possessions with which she arrived were peasant grab and part of a man’s suit. Neither was appropriate attire for dinner at the Varfolomeyevs, or much of anything else Anna would be doing in St. Petersburg.
There were three choices for this evening - a dusty-blue silk-lined cotton dress decorated with a trail of dark blue velvet bows cascading sashlike across the bodice and halfway down the skirt, a dark burgundy satin one with a pleated skirt, puffed shoulders, and gathered neckline, and the one Anna chose, that paired a ruffle-hemmed full-skirt of teal with a plain ivory blouse and straight sleeves, set-off by a wide black waistband. Anna made twisted coils of her long hair, securing the updo with combs and hair sticks. A few soft curls escaped, falling around her face.
Anna heard voices in the parlor as she descended the grand staircase. She recognized the one of Colonel Varfolomeyev. She could identify two women, as well. One was Lidia Motyaevna, who she had met for the first time a few hours ago - a short, heavy-set woman in her fifties, with dark chestnut hair and thick eyebrows framing her warm, green eyes and long lashes. Lidia’s compact, thin-lipped mouth widened into a large smile, creating dimples in both cheeks, as Anna came into view. The young woman next to her had the same green eyes and dimpled smile, but Lara Rodionovna was considerably taller and thinner than her mother.
“Anna Viktorovna, good evening!” greeted Lidia Motyaevna, extending both hands. “Come in, come in.”
Mrs. Varfolomeyeva was of such good cheer that Anna could not help but feel comfortable in her presence. After a round of greetings and introductions, the four of them took seats in the cozy sitting room. Soon, other guests arrived, the Varfolomeyev’s daughter-in-law Natasha Vadimovna and her three children, Volya, Nikolai, and Ilya. When Yakov Shtolman was announced, Lidia Motyaevna sprang out of her chair.
“Yakov Platonovich! It has been too long!” she boomed. Yakov gently grasped Lidia’s outstretched hand and kissed it.
“Lovely to see you, Lidia Motyaevna.” Yakov replied. He nodded greetings to the other guests as he crossed to where Anna was sitting.
“How are you, Anna?” Yakov asked, taking a seat next to her.
“I am well, Yakov. And you?” Anna replied. He was freshly shaven and dressed in a handsome dark suit. She could barely resist reaching up to caress his cheek, but that would have to wait for a more secluded place.
“It’s good to be back safely in St. Petersburg, enjoying the company of good friends,” Yakov answered. “I am glad that Rodion Sashenkavich invited you to stay with his family. I have known them for a long time.”
Anna smiled, “I am comfortable here. I had the most wonderful soak this afternoon.”
“You do look refreshed,” Yakov observed, admiring the soft curls that framed Anna’s face, her soft smile and the crinkles at the corners of her eyes. He smiled, as his eyes met hers.
“How long will you stay?” Yakov asked. He had not planned to bring Anna Viktorovna with him to St. Petersburg; the decision was necessitated by a run-in with the men in Zatonsk - men connected to the death of Prince Razumovsky, Shtolman was certain. Anna’s life was in danger until the documents they were transporting were safely in Colonel Varfolomeyev’s hands.
“Colonel Varfolomeyev expects he will only need me tomorrow for a few hours. After that, I’m free to return to Zatonsk. He has invited me to stay here, as long as I please, however.” Anna responded.
“And how long would it please you to stay here, Anna Viktorovna?” Yakov eyed her seriously. Their love affair had run a year or more, if you believed the rumors, or if you understood such things to begin when two hearts yearn for each other, when intimate moments are regularly sought after, when concern for self is replaced with devotion to another. But in Yakov and Anna’s minds, their romantic relationship had only just begun - the question of “What now?” left unanswered.
Before Anna could reply, a woman bounded toward them, calling loudly, “Anna! Anna!” Anna looked up into the youthful face of Alice Lawrence, an English girl that she and Yakov befriended in Zatonsk.
“Alice!” Anna rose and embraced her tightly. Tears welled up in Anna’s eyes as she recalled their last meeting. “I hope you have forgiven me,” Anna pleaded.
Pulling away to get a good look at Anna’s face, Alice asked, concerned, “For what?”
“The last time we were together, I was waving a candlestick at your head!” Anna had been terrified at the time; the world she thought she knew had been turned upside down. People she had trusted had tried to kill her, the police had threatened her, and Shtolman was missing, possibly dead.
Alice just smiled and hugged her again.
“Waving a candlestick at her head? That sounds like a story I would like to hear more of,” Rodion Sashenkavich interjected.
“Perhaps, Anna Viktorovna can also regale us with a retelling of the time she threw a knife at my head,” Yakov added, teasing her.
“Yakov Platonovich, you know full well that I did no such thing,” Anna challenged.
“Seems you have quite a few secret talents, Miss Mironova,” Rodion stated. “But now it is time for dinner.” The colonel and his wife conducted everyone into the dining room. Dinner was a delightful affair, not only delicious, but full of pleasant banter and silliness, initiated primarily by Ilya, with a bit of encouragement from Yakov.